


Constellations

by thedaughterofkings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, First Contact, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Language Barrier, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 17:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14878092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaughterofkings/pseuds/thedaughterofkings
Summary: Building relations with an alien race was always going to be difficult enough anyways. But when he meets Stiles, Derek finds himself with a rather more personal incentive to 'make nice with the aliens'.Now they only need to figure out their translation issues.





	Constellations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loverofcake (bumbleboots)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumbleboots/gifts).



> This was my contribution to the [Sterek Charity Zine Solstice](https://sterekzine.tumblr.com/) and I'm very happy I can share it with you all now! I'm very proud to have worked alongside so many amazing artists and authors for a worthy cause in the name of our boys and I hope you are all enjoying the end results as much as I am!
> 
> Thank you so much to Clara for the prompt which sparked this fic, and the wonderful Larissa for the beta-read!

Aliens are nothing new to Derek. 

 

None of them look like humanity imagined extraterrestrial life. No little green men from Mars, no black, insect-like creatures of nightmare. As always, reality is both more mundane and at the same time stranger than fiction. These aliens look almost human, of similar size, build, outer appearance in general. But if you look closely, they suddenly are  _ too much _ \- their eyes too bright, smiles too sharp, teeth too white. They are too close to mankind to feel the distance, too different from humanity to feel comfortable, smack dab in the middle of the uncanny valley. First Contact didn’t go perfectly, unsurprisingly; there just was a little too much threatening, a little too much panic - just as in any other diplomatic meeting. Derek has sat in on several of them and helped translate between humans and these aliens - or, as they like to be called: the Force. 

 

Apparently there was a translation error early on that lead to the head of the aliens being called the  _ Sheriff  _ and their home planet the  _ Station _ . Then someone realised that the Sheriff’s people are obviously the  _ Force _ and that was that; the name stuck. As if anyone could resist a good Star Wars reference, never mind a bunch of nerds obsessed with space. 

 

Derek has met several members of the Force already, including the Commander of the mission they are currently on, Lydia. At first glance she’s just a young, buxom redhead, but with hair too red and eyes too shrewd. He has noticed how their heartbeats tend to be faster than a human’s, and their scents cold, as if perpetually covered with ice. But nothing has prepared him for this particular member of the Force. 

 

The first thing Derek becomes aware of is his scent, cinnamon frosted over with ice, hot and cold at the same time, tingling in his nose. It should be uncomfortable - a scent so strong it’s almost overpowering usually makes Derek want to plug his nose - but it’s addicting rather, making Derek breathe in deeply to get more of that scent, to be able to really pick it apart. It makes him want to figure out how the scent changes with joy, anger, arousal. It’s already burnt into his brain, into his nose now, and he’s sure he’d pick it out in a crowd full of sweaty, stinking people.

 

The next thing Derek becomes aware of is his heartbeat, racing in overdrive, fairly vibrating in Derek’s ears, like the wings of a hummingbird, beating ever faster, faster, faster to keep it aloft. When Derek focusses on it, he can hear where the beats come so close together they almost sound like one or how the heart skips a beat now and again. There’s a strange rhythm to it, as though the heart is beating to a song only it can hear. Derek wishes he could hear it, too.

 

His outer appearance is no less alluring than his scent and heartbeat. It should all be  _ too much _ , his eyes too big, limbs too thin, fingers too long, lips too pink, but Derek finds himself tracing those dark moles on pale skin with his eyes and wondering how they’d feel under his fingers, his tongue, and how many more he’d find beneath those embroidered robes. 

 

An elbow in the side reminds him that they are not alone and that he’s definitely not supposed to be ogling the welcoming committee. Laura steps forward and introduces them with a smile:

 

“I am Commander Laura Hale, and these are Lieutenant Derek Hale and Ensign Cora Hale, my colleagues and siblings. We’re the team that’s been chosen for the exchange mission and we’re very excited about this opportunity to further the relations between our people.”

 

Countless expert diplomats have stewed over this one sentence, trying to find the perfect balance between polite subordination and subtle self-assertion. But this particular alien doesn’t seem to care much about protocol because he just grins and replies:

 

“Hi, I’m -” and here he produces a noise full of consonants and clicks and the sound of nails scraping on blackboard that makes Derek’s throat hurt at just the thought of repeating it. To his relief the alien quickly adds: “but just call me Stiles, please. The other name’s a family tradition my dad couldn’t get out of, so now I’m stuck with it. Lydia told me to welcome you - apparently I need some practice.” 

 

To Derek’ fascination, a faint blush starts spreading across Stiles’ cheeks at admitting that. It’s more bluish purple than Derek is used to, and he’s sure Laura could tell him exactly how the blood of the aliens probably differs from human blood to account for such a difference in colour. 

 

Derek mostly wants to cup Stiles’ cheeks in his hands and check if the blush burns as hot as it looks. He isn’t quite sure whether that is what his superiors meant by “making nice with the aliens”, though.

 

~*~

 

“So you are all creatures of the night, right?” Stiles asks suddenly. “Why didn’t they send any regular humans?” 

 

Stiles is showing Derek to his quarters, where he’ll spend the next few months of their voyage through space, the final frontier. Laura and Cora have opted to visit Lydia on the Bridge first, to go over the mission plan together. Or in Cora’s case to ogle Lydia who she’s got a bit of a badly veiled thing for. But at least it means Derek’s finally alone with Stiles - who Derek might already have a bit of a badly veiled thing for.

 

“Yes, we are werewolves,” Derek acknowledges, ignoring the “creature of the night” comment because he has a feeling that Stiles’ education of all things Earth and human has been quite - selective. “That means that we are stronger and heal quicker than regular humans, so we’ll probably be better able to deal with whatever awaits us in your world. However, we are neither unbreakable nor immortal, and either way we don’t know how you and your strengths compare to ours.”

 

“I don’t think my strength compares to yours,” Stiles mutters, blatantly staring at Derek’s biceps, until he seems to realise what he’s doing and starts blushing hotly again while spluttering apologies. Derek laughs and waves them off, though he can feel his own cheeks heating up. Unfortunately Stiles notices it, too, and reaches out to cup Derek’s face with his warm hand, long fingers stroking over Derek’s cheek.

 

“You blush red,” he says wonderingly and Derek returns: “You blush purple,” which - to his delight - makes the blush on Stiles’ cheeks flare brighter again. When Derek carefully brushes his fingertips along Stiles’ cheekbone in a gentle caress, he’s surprised to find that Stiles’ blush literally burns hot, the purple apples of his cheek far warmer under Derek’s fingertips than the chin cupped in Derek’s palm. Every hint of ice is gone from Stiles’ scent now, replaced by fiery cinnamon instead. Somehow Derek doesn’t think this is how he is supposed to learn about the intricacies of a different species, but at least he’s ‘building relations’?

 

~*~

 

Building relations is in fact their mission objective. Derek and his sisters are on an exchange mission, jokingly called a school exchange by some, and reality actually isn’t too far away from that. The Sheriff’s people - as the ones who mastered Faster Than Light Drive first - visited Earth, and now they’ve invited humanity back for a return visit.

 

The Hales have been armed with a collection of anything and everything that could be considered Earth culture to bring along to the Station and Derek and Stiles have been working their way through it. It doesn’t take long (or all of Stiles’ loud complaints) to realise that whoever taught Stiles Earth’s culture and history was very strict about the curriculum, only allowing “sensible and decorous topics” as Stiles says with an eyeroll. At first Derek worries that despite his outer appearance, Stiles might be much younger than he looks, but some careful questioning later, Lydia makes it very clear that Stiles is of “viable age”, whatever that is supposed to tell Derek. But she gives them permission to use one of the conference rooms for their “intercultural studies”, so Derek decides not to pry any further just in case she takes it back. 

 

Stiles comments upon the missing eyebrows of the Mona Lisa and wonders whether that means she was a werewolf, commands Hamlet to kill Claudius already half way through the first act (Derek can’t quite tell whether it’s the regicide or the death of a father that agitates him more), and falls instantly in love with Star Wars. He doesn’t stop making puns about being one with the Force for a week straight. The only thing he might love even more are buddy cop movies - apparently they remind him of his dad. 

 

Derek’s favourite part of introducing Stiles to all he’s missed so far in his life is the music, though. Because Stiles tries to fit one of his people’s traditional dances to every single piece they listen to. Which means that Derek gets to be twirled around the room by Stiles to  _ Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen _ (Hell’s Vengeance Boils in My Heart) from Mozart’s  _ Magic Flute _ in a dizzying spin, and learns a very confusing, but also very fun, kicking and jumping dance that apparently fits Beethoven’s  _ Symphony No. 5 in C Minor _ perfectly.  _ Macarena _ is Derek’s time for revenge, and it even brings in Laura from the Bridge and Cora from the engineering deck, and soon enough there’s a small crowd of aliens doing the shimmy and clap together with them, but Derek can only focus on how Stiles’ long neck is  on display as he throws his head back and laughs out loud. 

 

The dances Derek likes the best, though, are the slow ones - to  _ Here comes the Sun _ , and sometimes to Stiles’ favourite songs, Stiles softly humming into Derek’s ear as they sway in each other’s arms. 

 

~*~

 

Throughout their journey, Derek increasingly finds himself on the observation deck when he can’t sleep, staring out into the vast expanse of the universe and feeling smaller than he ever has before in his life. He has his sisters, and he now has Stiles, too, but it’s getting harder to forget that he’s leaving everything he knows behind for who knows how long.

 

A soft cough draws him out of his increasingly maudlin thoughts and even before he turns around he knows who has found him, the scent of frozen cinnamon tickling his nose. Stiles is hesitating just inside the room and only comes forward when Derek motions him closer.

 

“What are you looking at?” Stiles asks quietly once he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with Derek.

 

“The stars,” Derek answers, and after a moment’s hesitation adds: “I don’t know any of their names - we’ve given names to all the stars and constellations we can see, and they almost all have stories attached to them, told for thousands of years. But now I’m so far from home that I don’t recognise a single star anymore.”

 

Stiles looks out at the stars in silence for a long heartbeat and then he takes Derek’s hand and leads him over to the comfortable sofa in front of the largest window.

 

“We are close to my home and these are the stars of my sky,” Stiles says and squeezes Derek’s hand. “I can tell you the names and stories my people have given them if you promise to do the same for your stars.”

 

And without even waiting for Derek to agree, Stiles starts pointing out stars and formations. The names are all unpronounceable, but the stories are familiar, of gods and mortals, love, hate, and everything in between. Derek mostly remains quiet and listens, but occasionally he offers up a story of his own if it seems fitting, which Stiles laps up each time. 

 

Eventually Derek notices that Stiles has named all but two stars, which together are shining brighter than any of the others.

 

“What about those two?” he asks, pointing them out, and to his surprise, Stiles flushes hotly. Literally. His body is a sudden line of heat against Derek’s and at first Derek thinks he’s not going to answer, but then Stiles says something in his mother tongue, something lilting and intimate that makes Derek flush in turn without knowing why.

 

“That’s what we call them,” Stiles says, voice curiously hoarse, “though I don’t know what to call them in your language. I could show you, if you want me to?”

 

“Show me?” Derek asks, and Stiles blushes hotter. 

 

“Yes, like this,” he says and turns to face Derek, reaching out slowly to cup Derek’s cheeks with his hands, long fingers stroking over Derek’s temples. Then he leans forward and Derek’s eyes slide shut automatically, just before Stiles’ lips press hot, but oh so hesitantly and carefully against his. It’s a soft kiss, tentative and shy, dry and close-mouthed, lips barely moving against each other, and it’s over almost before Derek is able to process what is happening. 

 

“That’s what we call those two stars,” Stiles says, still blushing furiously, but also looking adorably proud of himself. “How do you say that in your language?”

 

“A kiss,” Derek says. “A lover’s kiss.”

 

“Lovers?” Stiles asks and Derek explains: “Two people who love each other and kiss and - do other things.”

 

“Like -” Stiles says something long and complicated that seems to include several slightly different versions of his word for kiss if Derek is not mishearing things and then looks at Derek questioningly. Derek shrugs, assuming that this is the alien version of lover, boyfriend, partner, significant other, or something similar.

 

“I guess so. Was that not among the vocabulary you learned?”

 

Stiles actually pouts. 

 

“You know they only taught me  _ stately _ things. And certainly nothing about kisses or lovers.”

 

Derek hesitates and then leans forward slowly to press another soft kiss to Stiles’ lips that is returned enthusiastically. 

 

“I will teach you whatever you want to know,” he promises and Stiles beams at him.

 

“Does that mean we now are -” he says the alien word for what Derek is now pretty sure means boyfriend again and looks up through his lashes at Derek coyly. 

 

“If you wish for us to be,” Derek says and doesn’t get any further because Stiles squeals and throws his arms around Derek in an exuberant hug that threatens to suffocate him.

 

“Oh, I can’t wait to tell my dad!” Stiles exclaims and Derek only has one short moment to wonder why Stiles’ father has to be immediately informed that his son now has a boyfriend before Stiles tackles him down onto the sofa and thoroughly distracts him with more lovers’ kisses.

 

~*~

 

The rest of the time spent travelling through space to Stiles’ home planet passes surprisingly quickly - especially as Stiles insists on dragging him through the entire ship to inform every last ensign that they are now “alien word for boyfriends”. For a while Derek worries that there might have been a misunderstanding after all, but if that had been the case surely Lydia would have spoken up when they told her and not just raised a brow and then offered her congratulations. Stiles also drags him off the ship once they reach the Station because Derek has to meet his dad  _ now _ . There’s a welcoming committee that awaits them, the older man in the middle wearing a star on his brow clearly the leader - and suddenly the  _ Sheriff _ ,  _ Station _ ,  _ Force _ translation makes much more sense. Derek focusses on the other people gathered instead, trying to figure out which one of them might be Stiles’ dad. When Stiles finally lets go of his hand and barrels forward, though, he throws himself into the arms of the alien king and suddenly so many things make so much more sense.

 

With wide eyes, Derek turns toward Laura to check whether everyone but him was aware that his boyfriend is apparently a prince, but Laura just shrugs at him in a very clear: “your boy, your problem”. Derek swallows and turns back just in time to see Stiles drag the Sheriff over to him and his sisters, his beaming grin echoed in the Sheriff’s softer smile, their kinship obvious. Laura elbows him sharply in the side and steps forward to bow to the Sheriff, Cora copying her. 

 

“We’d like to thank you for your hospitality,” she says formally. “I am Commander Laura Hale from planet Earth, and these are my colleagues and siblings Cora Hale and Derek Hale.”

 

“My son has told me much about you,” the Sheriff smiles and Derek swallows again, harder this time, because he sure hopes Stiles hasn’t told him everything. “It is an absolute pleasure to welcome you here on our planet and I look forward to getting to know the one my son calls  _ betrothed _ and his family.”

 

This time Derek’s nervous swallow goes down the wrong pipe and he starts coughing violently, which makes Stiles dart forward and pound him on the back worriedly.

 

“Betrothed?” he croaks and Stiles nods and beams again. “Yes-” and he repeats the word Derek assumed this whole time meant ‘boyfriend’, but which is apparently much closer to ‘fiancé’. Next to him, Laura is laughing so hard she has to lean onto Cora for support, who shakes her head and laments: “And to think you are supposed to be our linguistics specialist.”

 

Stiles suddenly looks worried again and asks hesitantly: “Is there a problem? Do you no longer wish for us to be -  _ betrothed _ ?” He pronounces the word carefully, like something precious he can’t bear to get wrong and Derek has to swallow one last time to get rid of the frog in his throat and says:

 

“There is no one else in the whole universe that I’d rather be betrothed to than you, Stiles.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you thought, so please leave a comment below or come talk to me on [tumblr](thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com)!


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